( open and closed starters )

[wrists]

WHO: laurent & friends (questionable).
WHERE: here and there in stygia.
WHEN: december.
WHAT: catch-all for monthly tidings. plotting comment is here.
WARNINGS: mentions of csa and the ongoing trauma surrounding it, bloody violence, angst and general unpleasant fuckery.

Comments

'remember that time when...?'

[craters]

（ you can bet that the moment this conversation is done, she is going to be reaching out to several people to find out what she can about this man. beautiful or not, there is clearly something deeply rotten to the core in him, and she's not so young anymore as to be swayed by looks alone. the fury smoulders, and her tolerance for his behaviour — already dangerously fraying — is now alight at the mention of sasuke.

sakura's expression, which had gone perilously blank in the wake of her earlier warmth, shifts very slightly into a smile — or perhaps more accurately, a baring of her teeth couched in the overall rote portrayal of geniality.

she steps in closer, though the movement is just fast enough it's hard to track, inhuman, and puts one hand against the window so that he's halfly boxed in. she leans in close enough so that when she next speaks she is right beside his ear, her hair falling in a curtain between them. her voice is a low, wintry murmur: ）

I've decided that you can say whatever you like about me. But if Naruto or Sasuke's name leaves your mouth again in my presence, I'm going to break so many bones in your body you'll wish I'd killed you.

（ she straightens, and the hand that left a print against the glass is used to casually brush her hair back from her face. ）

Now, do you wish to start over politely, or is your plan to demonstrate both masochism and stupidity?

[wrists]

[ the threat fills him with a grim sort of satisfaction. they are the same — obsessed with each other, harboring a festering darkness that makes them ripe ground for their shadows to take root. (laurent does not think of his own similarities to this.) he doesn't flinch at the harsh, sudden movement, the strands falling between them the pleasant, flowery color that some of the pets in the palace used to dye their hair in time for spring. all that's missing is a dotting of pearls.

his hand rises, and as she pulls away he fondles a lock of pink between his pale fingers, falling like water when she straightens. his eyes are equally frosty as they settle upon her, though his voice is detached, almost disinterested in a conversation he began. ]

That was pretty, but your friend has already tried that. [ as he settles his hand in his lap again, his lace cuff shifts, revealing one tightly bandaged wrist. ] I can hardly expect someone like you to care that you fraternize with a murderer. I would ask if his cock is that good, but we both know he wouldn't know anything about using it.

[craters]

（ toeing the line, but not over it yet. her smile remains, saccharine. ）

What a broken record you are.

（ his choice of words reveals an obsession, certainly. a fixation on whores and cocks and sundry. it reminds her of sai and his eternal running commentary, and now that the initial scandalized shock of hearing such things uttered so casually to a stranger has faded, she's settled into clinical neutrality. the bandaged wrist gets a flicker of her attention, her eyes a stormy seaglass green as they narrow in annoyance.

she doesn't want to help him, actually. but she's still a doctor first, and she's not going to let his unconscionable attitude overrule that. even if he refuses — and she gauges that he will — she's still going to offer. ）

Let me see your wrist. I'm a healer, and as long as you behave I have no reason to follow through on my threat.

[wrists]

[ a healer. the last time he'd seen sasuke, he was leaving to fetch a healer, whom laurent had calmly threatened to kill if they laid hands upon him. they'd stayed silently in the tent until sasuke had finally, finally gone, and then laurent had made the healer fetch him a horse, as per his original plan.

and now sakura stands before him, assessing him like a wounded animal. laurent is exhausted of being reminded of his near-death experience, but equally exhausted of being injured at all — it's a slow process to heal when he won't allow anyone near him. the shoulder that sasuke had snapped back into place is only just beginning to lose its tenderness, but his wrist will take weeks, if longer, to heal. it's a weakness he can't afford.

and so, against his better judgment, he makes a space on the sill for sakura to sit if she pleases, and settles his wrist on his knee. it's a clean break, set neatly, but acutely painful every time he so much as moves a finger. ]

Do you clean up after your friends often?

[craters]

（ full of surprises, isn't he? one eyebrow lifts skeptically as he makes space for her, but the question earns him another unreadable look. ）

I don't believe that's any of your business.

（ it's said brusquely, but the obvious rancor has stepped into shadow as she sits beside him, and takes his wrist in hand. despite the threats of violence — which she will not hesitate to enact upon him should he err again — there is an unmistakable gentleness to the surety of her touch.

she doesn't need to take the bandage off — a pulse of chakra sent into the heart of the bone tells her everything she needs to know about the break. her chakra feels like several things at once — the kiss of dawn's first tremulous rays against a mountainside, the way the spring air is reluctant to surrender its wintrous bite, the promise of things green and growing — but it is brief, and then gone. ）

You're lucky. （ luck has nothing to do with it. sasuke could have crushed his bones to powder if he'd chosen to, and instead made a clean break. this was a kindness wrapped in warning, and if this man had spoken to him the way he'd spoken to her, it hardly takes a genius to imagine how that conversation might have careened into heady violence. ） It'll be an easy fix. This might feel a little strange.

（ this time, rather than the exploratory burst of chakra, it's a slow and steady infusion. beneath her hand, the bone knits, the muscles and tendons soothed where they've been left inflamed to burn with pain. the dead blood that will have dappled bruises at the site of the break is swept away along his veins to be absorbed back into the body, and when she lifts her hand, he'll find that there's no lingering trace of pain, just the whisper of a fading chill. ）

Anything else?